


Strip and Fall

by Ishipbadasschicks (Awal)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke is a stripper, Clexa Endgame, Clextober, Enough smut to make a porn star blush, F/F, I also made a bunch of art for this, In honor of the flop finale, Is NSFW a tag here, Lexa is a Gay Disaster, Stripper AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awal/pseuds/Ishipbadasschicks
Summary: She feels fatigue pressed between her shoulders, hair cascading down in rivulets, pursed lips waiting. ‘Red today’ she thinks; bright and bold and sexy in ways that let her heeled feet glide across the stage confidently, her aching thighs balancing precariously with each measured twirl.Or the Clexa stripper AU
Relationships: Clarke Griffin & Lexa, Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Octavia Blake/Lincoln
Comments: 29
Kudos: 212





	Strip and Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tangledinprose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangledinprose/gifts).



> (This story actually started as a gift for me by tangledinprose.. Everything good about this is hers. AO3 just wouldn't let me add her as a cocreator, so here we are.) This was created back in 2017, so this is long overdue. Unbetad because I'm on my phone and lazy.

She feels fatigue pressed between her shoulders, hair cascading down in rivulets, pursed lips waiting. ‘Red today’ she thinks; bright and bold and sexy in ways that let her heeled feet glide across the stage confidently, her aching thighs balancing precariously with each measured twirl. 

“Callie! You’re on in five!” the redhead calls out to her, rushing back without waiting for an answer. 

“Yes ma’am,” she says, eyebrow quirked as she stands up, straightening out her shoulders and running her tongue across her teeth. 

Their establishment is by no means cheap; plush seats and dim lighting settles perfectly across the polished floors. There is a standard of perfection placed on all of their girls and she feels it moments before she steps out, running a wayward hand across her hair and knuckle catching at the edge of her lined lips. 

Sex is what she feels as eyes trail across her body; the low thump of music accentuating her routine perfectly. She knows she is good at this and she flaunts it, ducking low across the stage and letting them watch her. She sees the flick of green in her peripheral vision; moving toward it and slowing so that the man can tuck his gift into the tight net of her boots. 

“Take it off, ” he says loudly, a lecherous grin contorting his face. She smirks, grimace hiding behind her closed mouth, winking in retaliation. 

“If you insist.” 

She moves back, spine tapping the pole and she sinks to the ground, unzipping her blouse in slow practiced motions. There are hoots from her onlookers, a collective gasp as she reveals her bedazzled bralette and bare torso. She grins, reaching above her head to pull herself up, legs splayed in the air and blonde curls reaching toward the floor. 

They’re impressed by her. They always are no matter the level of inebriation. She was hired for this; the soft curves of her belly and strong clench of her thighs. The way she can mold her body to the metal decoration in the center of the stage and command attention with the spread of her legs. 

It’s early still though. She’ll save most of this dance for later in the night. For the drunker patrons and the higher tips. For now, her shorts stay on as she twirls the pole, occasionally engaging the crowd with the sweep of her hand or a practiced seductive look. 

She has mountains of bills tucked into her clothes by the time her set is up, body aching and smile already dropped from her face the moment she walks off stage. 

“What’s it like out there?” RJ asks, reaching up as she shakes out her own raven hair and readies herself for her own time. 

“Early,” she says back, counting out her ones slowly and rolling her eyes. “College crew right side of the stage though. Got a bit handsy.” 

“Ew.” A grimace flits over the other girls face. “Thanks for letting me know. You catching a drink with us after?” 

She smiles, nodding as she folds her tips and tucks them back into her bra. “Yea. Tell O to make me my usual. I got last dance tonight.” 

“Soda water Princess?” RJ scoffs, pushing at her shoulders, “Live a little.” 

The opening bars to the next set begins and she grins, flicking her hair, “You’re up little miss thang.” 

“Ew again. Never say that to my face. Like, ever.” 

“Yea yea ‘RJ,” she laughs, gesturing with her fingers and sticking her tongue out. She moves out of the way quickly, stepping into the dressing room and getting sucked into the familiar flurry of girls pulling at the clothes and unclipping their bras. If only the men they danced for knew the state of undress that was happening not more than thirty feet from their viewing. She groans, plopping down on the next available seat and grabbing the powder to dab the sweat off her upper lip. 

“Clarke. You removed a _shirt_ and still got more tips than half the girls here. Like, what the entire fuck!” Octavia sits down next to her, all chocolate hair and wing lined eyes. “You’re way too sexy for your own damn good.” 

“Don’t say my name,” Clarke levels a hard glare. They knew better than that; personal information is to be kept to a minimum even in passing. In a job like this, no girl could be too careful. 

“Sorry, sorry, _Cal_.” Octavia corrects, apology in her eyes before she lets out a long groan and leans her forehead onto her hands, “It’s not even eleven and I’m already decked.” 

Clarke stands, slipping out of her stage heels and into a lower pair, fishnet caged thighs rippling for a sec as she dances on the balls of her feet. “You haven’t even been out there yet. There was some teeny-bopper trying to touch my butt. I swear to God he was like 12.” 

“You know I belong behind the bar more than I ever did on that stage.” 

Clarke huffs, “I don’t know why you think that. Your flips are fucking incredible.” 

“Yea,” Octavia says, watching as Clarke starts to undress. “But so are my mixers, So. What you gonna do?” 

Clarke clicks her tongue, leveling the girl with a stare, “Why do you go up every night then?” 

Octavia shrugs, looking away for a moment. “The money is good. More than what I make on the floor. Gotta do what I gotta do Callie.” She stands, rolling out her shoulders and Clarke softens at the tension she feels flitting from the younger girl. Unlike her, Octavia hated dancing. She hated being the center of attention and despised the hooting calls of drunk patrons. 

But mostly, she hated lying to her family about how she keeps them afloat most of the year. 

Clarke steps up behind her, laying a chin on her shoulder and grinning at their reflections. “Wanna go make Raven nervous while she's doing her ‘RJ’ strut.”

“You know me so well. Yes, fucking please!” 

Clarke pulls at her hand, leading them from the back curtains onto the polished floor, “Awesome.”

…

“You're dickheads you know that,” Raven hisses at them as she kicks off her heels and massages her calf. “I nearly penetrated myself with that boot you mother fuckers.” 

Both Clarke and Octavia cackle, rolling around on the plush couch as the black haired girl glares in their direction. 

She gives up with a huff, cracking a smile as she slides in next to them, legs kicked out and placed on both their laps. 

Clarke pokes her thigh and Raven yelps, wiggling to get comfortable. “You're heavy as fuck RJ. Get off!” 

“Deal with it,” she deadpans, pulling Octavia closer as she starts to braid her hair. “What a shit haul tonight. Seriously! Only youngins and their younger broker counterparts. I swear I saw some guy try to slip a quarter down my pantyhose. Like!?! No, bitch.” 

Clarke laughs out loud, clutching her sides whilst Octavia gasps in return. They make coming to this place easy; light banter and quick jokes to break apart the routine of their nights. 

“Can we please get some alcohol in here. I need to not be sober right now” Raven huffs, groaning as she attempts to stand. “Also some fries. Carbs and grease to erase the memory of that old dude with his hand down his pants...” 

“No fries for me,” Clarke replies as Octavia gags. “I still gotta be up there tonight. I'd rather save the grease for after.” 

“Wanky,” Raven raises her eyebrows, smirking as she loops her arm through Clarke’s. 

“We all know Cal hasn't been laid in eons. Let's not get too excited.” 

“Hey!” Clarke shoots back, mock glare aimed at Octavia. “I'm focussing on my career right now.” 

Both girls stop, turning to stare. 

“Whatever you say,” Raven states, moving to sit on the bar stool as her fingers drum against its glass top. “Hey, Finn. Get me a Vodka Cran. Heavy on the vodka short on the cran. Kay, thanks.” 

The boy looks up, a familiar dimpled smile greeting them as he leans forward, “Titus knows you guys are drinking on the job?”

“Uhm mind your own business,” Octavia shoots back, slipping behind the bar and hip checking him out the way. “Drinking is strongly encouraged in this club. Don't you know?” 

She gets busy immediately, hands flipping quick and sliding the drink toward Raven within a matter of moments. She turns to Clarke, fluttering her eyes flirtatiously. “And for you darlin?” Fake southern drawl accentuated with the sudden pop of cleavage has Raven choking on her drink and Clarke rolling her eyes at their antics. 

“Gin and tonic. Hendricks.” 

“Gin girl huh. Interesting.” Octavia turns, topping the glass with ice and holding the liquor gently until Clarke catches her hand, “You're no fun Grif.” 

“Bite me.” 

Clarke turns, looking up at the stage to watch Harper reach the climax of her routine. She should go back and get ready. Makeup and heels and clothes pulled tight until she becomes the untouchable Callie. 

She turns back to the bar just as Octavia slides her drink over, nodding as she tucks in the straw, “Take that with you. Don't drink it all.” 

“Got it.” 

“And for the love of God, at _least_ give us an ass cheek this time.” Raven chips in, mouth still stuck around her own straw with her glass almost gone. 

“Oh, I will. Keep your dollar bills ready,” Clarke winks and walks away, smiling as she hears them hoot in return. 

The night was nearly done. She pulled her shoulders, cracking her neck and feeling the tension release. 

Almost there. 

… 

“Cal. We got some high rollers out there,” Emori states, fixing her lipstick and wiping the grease off of her hands. 

“Where?” Clarke asks, turning to face the girl as she zips the front of her booty shorts. 

“High rollers means high payers means-” 

“Give them the most attention so they keep coming back.” Clarke fills in with an eye roll. 

Clarke is no amateur in this game and Titus expects the more affluent of his patrons to be serviced well. 

“Front and center.” 

Clarke nods, shaking out her blonde curls once more. “Thanks. They tip any good?” 

Emori shrugs, hands tying at her own raven hair. “The dude slipped a few fifties into my panties. I'm not complaining.” She walks away, heels being pulled off sore feet and Clarke stretches, hands grazing the floor as she groans at the pleasurable ache in her hamstrings. 

There's usually a twenty-minute wait between dances, sometimes longer depending on the night. But considering the crowd she saw from the bar out earlier, she may be out in ten. Almost midnight on a Wednesday. She chuckles to herself and clips her harness across her abdomen, feeling it pull at her breasts and between her legs. 

She looks at herself in the mirror again. Black bra, skin-tight boots, lips still rosy from earlier. She looks exactly the part. Taking a long sip from her glass she winces as the gin coats her mouth, washing over her nerves and making her brave. She loves this even if it's hard to stomach at times. Loves the way it makes her feel strong. Loves that she's not a failure out on that pole. That she is nobody. Just a figure to be admired. Almost untouchable. Art. 

The deep base reverberates against her feet as Clarke walks out onto the stage, head held high, hips swaying in ways she knows capture attention. She smirks, light warming at the exposed tips of her shoulders and the long expanse of her forearms. 

She sees them the moment she's got her legs wrapped around the pole, tipped upside down with her throat bare to the room. 

Expensive suit. Leather band Breguet. Scotch tucked in one hand like an accessory. High rollers, alright. 

Clarke doesn't expect the kohl-lined eyes, deep chocolate curls or the sharp cut of jaw that has her clenching her thighs harder to stay in place. She swallows a sigh, rounding off her flip before sliding to the floor. She knows the girl is watching her, knows that she slows this part down just for this purpose, legs spreading wide until she's in a split, inner thighs grazing the stage floor. 

She feels the crowd croon at her and Clarke looks up, gaze steady as she catches the woman's eyes. They give away nothing, almost casting a customary glance over her body and Clarke feels herself shiver with it; the lack of want causing her to growl deep in her throat. 

Time to up the game, she thinks, turning to the other patrons and flashing a smile. She watches the dollars fall from their hands but she never moves to pick them up, They have a cleanup crew for this and she knows whatever hits the stage is hers. 

Instead, she drops to the floor, back arching as her flimsy shirt comes off. She picks it up and dabs it across her chest in a showy manner, laughing for a moment as she hears Raven scream from the background. She searches for her, sees her dancing behind the bar with Octavia and blows them both a kiss before dropping to a squat and offering her article of clothing to the first available guy she sees. 

He takes it, fingers shaking and she leans forward, bringing his face to her chest and smirking at his friends around him. He looks up at her in shock and she grins, flipping her hair before sliding back across the stage in a practiced move. She takes a second to thank whoever invented knee pads because holy fuck half her routine would be torture if not for them. 

Clarke stands, swinging her body again around the pole until the music starts to dip, getting dirtier and grittier. She plucks at her harness encasing her skin, caressing as she moves downwards, stopping at her breast as she pulls on the elastic to make them bounce. The men hoot around her and Clarke wants to roll her eyes at their predicted reaction. Instead, she leans forward, eyes drawn to the woman again. 

She's biting her lip this time, bottom caught between straight teeth and glass of scotch closer to her mouth than before. Clarke takes a second to look at her, the dark eyes, the exuded control. She finds herself wanting to ruin it. Wanting to be the reason her stoic mask breaks and the abandon spills forward. 

She drops to her knees again, crawling forward straight for her and smirks at the raised eyebrow she gets in return. She comes in close, inches away from her face and lets her look at her; expects the trail of gaze toward her exposed cleavage or swirling torso but gets neither. Instead, the woman doesn't break the stare, eyes open and head tilted. Clarke feels the flush start from her neck, racing toward her cheeks and a surprising heat unfurl in her belly. 

She's fucking beautiful up close; pliable lips and soft skin that has Clarke darting out her tongue in response. The woman catches the motion and Clarke swears she sees her pupils darken, but doesn't wait long enough to find out, dropping to her belly and arching her back so her hips raise off the ground. She grinds just like that; catches the response from the rest of her crowd but doesn't drop her eyes from the woman in front of her. 

She wants to make it clear, this display all for her and Clarke thinks she may be catching on, from the way her knuckles tighten its hold on her glass. 

Clarke flips over when she hears the beat of her mix pick up and moves her attention to the man sitting next to her. A lot older, with a smirk attached to his face and a napkin thrown over his lap, Clarke grimaces but pays her due, taking his hand and letting it run down her body until it catches the bottom of her shorts. She lets him undo the button before pulling his hand away, arching her back again as she slowly peels off the garment, revealing unmarred skin inch by inch. 

She's sitting quickly, swinging her legs and lifting until someone gets the hint and pulls off the material now hanging from her ankles. She thanks them with a soft smile and a small caress across the face. Enough in this current state of undress. 

Because she is, Undressed that is. Small triangular patch of fabric covering her nipples and even smaller covering the opening at her center. The elastic running down between her legs and latching onto the clip in the center of her back so her ass is on full display. Ribs decorated with strips of material that all meet in the middle of her sternum and shoestring like rope curving at her waist, hold it all precariously together. She feels the resounding groan as they take her in, watch her siddle back go the pole, muscles clenching as she moves. 

Clarke feels good in the moment. Feels warm from the way her body moves; exhausted in the physical way she gets at the end of a night. Her shoulders ache from their constant use and calves protest with every step. She looks up and settles her face for the crowd, sex still oozing from her pores and she lifts, spreading her thighs open and moving them in a circular motion as her abs contract. She slips backward before she falls, sliding to the floor and grinding again, hips jutting and until she's sitting, one leg high above her head, the other tucked neatly at her side. 

She looks up again and knows she only has 5 minutes to complete her time and she wants something bold. Wants the woman to have her imprinted forever in her mind; her body assaulting her sleep and ridding her of simple peace. 

Clarke jumps, landing on her heels and struts forward, sitting down and spinning to face her before the woman can catch her breath. Clarke slides forward slowly, bass drop letting her hips tick in time and she watches her eyes flit to the movement. Grins as the hand around the glass tightness again. 

She spins, one leg dropping off the stage, the other placed on the armrest of her seat so she's caged between Clarke's thighs. 

They stare at each other for a second, Clarke daring; the other girl surprised, mouth pursed open for a second as she takes in the view. Clarke clenches her stomach just a little and watches as the brunette closes her mouth abruptly, wayward tongue swiping at her lips. 

“Thirsty?” Clarke asks, leaning forward as she speaks over the music. The woman looks up, green eyes capturing her in its gaze. She smirks as she watches Clarke swallow and this… is not going to plan. 

Seduce some high roller and get good in the end but now Clarke feels altogether unbalanced, wanting to sit in her lap and _grind_. Feel the clench of that hand hold her in place rather than tightening around the cool glass clutched in her grip. 

Pink lips part and she tilts her head, leaning up in an attempt to be closer. Her eyes flutter, dark lining making the green blaze in contrast and Clarke wants to watch them darken in desire. 

“I'm parched,” she says, voice low and husky, a feminine softness that has Clarke clenching her thighs. _Jesus._

“Well,” she laughs, breathless. “We can't have that.” 

She sits forward, slipping the cool glass from the other woman's grip and is met with no resistance other than a raised eyebrow. Clarke dampens the urge to trace it, instead leans back and tilts her hips forward, raising the amber liquid between her breasts. 

The crowd seems to have caught on to her game, hooting in response and goading the green-eyed girl into action. 

Clarke smirks, abs tensing. “Let's get you that drink?” She tilts her voice at the end, question clear and precise. She is a performer yes, but has never been one to force someone into being on the show like she is. 

The other woman nods, however, licking her lips again and leaning forward, pausing halfway as her eyes flick back and forth. Clarke tilts her head, resting her palm on the back the woman's scalp to guide her and lets her fingers get lost in thick chocolate curls for a moment. She has a visceral reaction when the other girl's chin rests above her belly button, heat curled at the apex of her thighs at the visual, hand still holding her in place, hair blanketing the tops of her thighs. Clarke groans, teeth clenched for a moment and the other woman looks up, smiling slowly. 

Clarke wonders what she must look like; heaving chest, blown pupils, parted lips. She clicks her tongue, letting the amber liquid drip from the edge of her glass, between the valley of her chest along her sternum and into a waiting mouth. The other woman suckles before the liquor has a chance to escape and _holy fu--_

She tightens her hold, bucking her hips on instinct and the woman follows, hands quickly cupping at Clarke's thighs to stabilize herself. Clarke clenches, groaning low in her throat at the heat of her palms on exposed skin and green eyes meet hers in a curious gaze, hands skimming the underside of her legs and goading the delicious heat already building at the apex of her thighs. 

The crowd gets louder as the music dips and the glass empties slowly. The woman stays in place, tongue lavishing the stray streaks of amber liquid, dipping inconspicuously lower as they keep eye contact. 

Clarke smiles, placing the glass to her side and guiding the woman's face up, feeling her tongue lick the path upwards, sternum; between her breasts. She’s caught off guard when emerald eyes meet hers, gaze intense, lips parted and wet with liquor. Clarke bites on her own bottom lip, wishing instead she had the taste of expensive whiskey and the other woman on her tongue. 

“Hi,” she says, smoky voice coasting over Clarke like velvet and she shivers in response, tightening her thighs across the woman's waist where they have now settled. 

“Hi,” Clarke says back, all false bravado leached from her as she grips the edge of the stage and lets her eyes roam. Long torso, button-up white shirt tucked into dark slacks. Exposed forearms. Everything about her screams professional and Clarke feels wanton in the way this woman's mouth was on her just a few moments before. 

Their moment is disturbed when Clarke feels the light flutter of bills landing on her chest. She looks to the source of the tip, breaking eye contact. She puts on her performance smile when she notices the man next to them, the woman's partner probably, holding 50's in his loose fingers. Clarke feels hands tighten on her thighs and she stops, eyebrow arching as she sees the look of disdain thrown from the woman between her thighs. 

So... not partners then. 

She takes it as a sign anyway, detangling herself from the girl and sliding back across the stage. She has a few more rotations to go and more people to entertain. 

She doesn’t let herself look at the woman again until she's done; legs spread wide, arms thrust above her head and breast exposed to the cool air-conditioned room. 

She stands, walks off stage and knows she being watched. Just like always. 

…

“HOLY MOTHER EFFING FUCK!” 

“Yes, Raven. Please do yell some more in this tiny, tiny room.” Octavia deadpans. 

Raven grins, “Okay. HOLY FUCKING HELL CAL WHAT THE FUCK!?” 

Both Octavia and Clarke groan, shushing the other girl as Clarke collapses on the couch, legs kicked out in the air. 

“Unboot me,” she says, wiggling her limb and Raven snorts, coming forward to unzip the tight garment. 

“Only because I saw you literally doing a pirouette last week trying to get these babies off.” 

“They’re fucking inhumane,” Clarke growls, yelping as Raven pulls hard, falling backward as her shoe comes off. “Hey O, can you pass me my tee?” 

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Octavia replies, going to their costumes and picking out another obscenely revealing shirt and throwing it towards her, “We got one more hour and Titus wants us to work the floor.” 

“What?! But I just did last dance?” Clarke whines, ignoring the squeak of Raven as the other shoe comes flying off, the brunette falling with it. 

“Oh we know,” Octavia smirks. 

“Yea babe. Literally, everyone knows,” Raven says, standing up and brushing her shorts. “Some high rollers been asking about you.” 

“That was some show you put on.” 

Clarke sits upright, pulse suddenly racing. “She was asking about me?” She whispers, nerves and anticipation clenched in her abdomen. Raven rolls her eyes and Octavia sighs. 

“Not _her_.” 

Clarke stills for a moment, huffing before falling back into the couch, “Oh.” 

“Classic. You basically fuck a woman on stage-- pretty sure there were some bases crossed there btw-- and the next hardly single heterosexual male thinks it was an offering for him.”

“Ergh. What does he want?” 

Octavia reaches for her hand, pulling her up, “Sounds like a private lap to me.” 

Clarke grimaces, lips pulled down, “absolutely not.” 

“Heard he’s offering a thousand plus tips.” 

The blonde rolls her eyes, pulling the exposed lace shirt on and turning so Raven can zip her up. “Hardly impressive.” 

“Hey, I’m just the messenger,” Octavia replies, raising her hands. “Take it up with Titus.” 

“Well, Titus can kiss my overworked white ass,” Clarke hisses and Raven giggles, gently smoothing her hair down her back. “He knows I don’t _do_ private laps. A thousand dollars isn’t going to change that.” 

“Better you than me, Cal.” Octavia shrugs and Clarke sighs in return, facing the mirror and adjusting her eyelashes. 

“Let's go.” 

“Hey,” Raven stops, holding onto her wrist delicately. “We don’t have to you know? We can just get dressed in our sweats and get out of here.” 

She shakes her head, rolling out the tension in her shoulders and licking along her dry lips. “What's one more hour right?”

Octavia smirks, pushing the girl forward. “The difference between torture and bed?” 

“Right.” 

“Chill Grif. First drinks on me,” the younger girl grins, leaning forward as the low thump of music gets louder. 

Clarke steps out from behind the curtain, the club coming into view and she feels the mask slip over her features. The bar is _buzzing_ , girls walking around with men hanging off of their every word and Clarke wants to laugh at the absurdity of her life. Instead, she links arms with Raven, running her tongue across her teeth and makes her way to the center of the room. Octavia looks amused, tilting her head to the side as she observes. “I found out her name by the way.” 

Clarke frowns for a second, “Who?”

Octavia looks at her with a raised eyebrow and Raven scoffs beside her. “The hottie you basically did oral with on the stage, duh.” 

She flushes for a second, captures her bottom lip to stop the smile that threatens to show. “And?” 

She feels a tap on her shoulder before the other girl can respond, turning to face the distraction with a frown on her face. Instead, she's met with warm green eyes, chocolate hair and a stoic expression that seems so familiar that Clarke barely holds in her sigh. 

The women smiles slowly, a small barely there tilt of her lips as they regard each other for a moment, anticipation building in the space between them. 

“Hi,” she says first, amusement soaked tongue and silky soft voice causing Clarke to move closer. 

“Hi,” she parrots back, pulling her lip back between her teeth, gaze unmoving from the other girls’. 

“I wanted to say thank you,” she says, eyes ducking low and soft, blush rising to her cheeks. 

Clarke smiles, wanting to feel the heat of her skin. “What for?” 

She looks up again, head tilted slowly, “For the drink.” Dark eyes meet and Clarke feels the clench in her thighs, heavy want suddenly sinking low in her belly. 

She tucks a hand into the dark material of her slacks, slipping out a card before handing it to Clarke, leaning forward with a smirk, “My name is Lexa by the way.” She brings an arm out, touching Clarke's forearm gently, “But your friends already knew that.” 

Standing back, she looks over Clarke's shoulder, nodding to both Octavia and Raven who busy themselves suddenly as though they weren’t watching the entire exchange, “I hope we see each other soon.” 

“Same.” Clarke murmurs, watching as Lexa turns away, heading toward the exit and out of sight. She swallows harshly, mouth dry and face flushed, wondering what the fuck just happened. 

…

She walks into an empty apartment, sneakers slapping against her tiled floors loudly and darkness swallowing its expanse. Clarke places her keys down, turning on the lights in her kitchen and wincing at their brightness. 

She needs food. Food and tea and maybe a ride or ten on her vibrator before she can even think about going to sleep. She groans out loud, collapsing on her couch and running her fingers through her hair for a moment. 

Lexa. 

She scrambles, wiggling the card from the tight pocket of her jeans and laying back down, tracing the edge of it as she recalls every detail of her night. 

This is… new for her. The persistent arousal clinging to skin and the ache for something more. Clarke has danced for girls before… has fucked girls before. And yet she feels herself clench at the thought of the beautiful stranger she met tonight; wonders what those green eyes would look like from between her legs. 

“Fuck my life,” Clarke groans, getting up in exasperation and meandering over to pour herself a glass of bourbon. She sips it with a wince, savors the smooth edge against her tongue. 

Tucking the drink in one hand, she eyes the card again; sharp edge of paper digging into her index finger and thumb and reminding her of what a bad idea this is. 

‘ _Don't do it.’_ Clarke lets out a sigh and leans back against the couch again, looking at the ceiling, knee moving up and down pointlessly. She looks at the card again, tilting her head as she takes in the printed font. 

_Lexa Woods_

Clarke shivers, running her thumb along the other girl's name and sucking on her bottom lip longingly, curiosity making the edges of her teeth _ache_. 

She picks up her phone, entering the number displayed so readily for her, biting her cheek as she forgoes precautions and hits the green call button. The nervous tick in her sternum grows as the ring echoes across her silent apartment and Clarke wants to groan at the borderline insanity of her actions. 

She forces in deep breaths, eyes glancing at the clock and wincing at what she finds. She exhales, going to pull the phone away from her ear when she hears the definite click and fumble of an answered call. 

_“This is Woods,”_ Her voice is smokey and soft and altogether too sinful over a phone line. Clarke pauses, wondering why she didn’t plan this better and how the _fucking hell_ was she meant to keep it together when she feels like a restless mess. 

She goes for casual, swallowing down the taste of alcohol and running her tongue across her upper lip, “Oh. You’re awake?” 

Lexa chuckles, a quick rough syllable of a thing that has Clarke clenching her teeth. _“Did you expect me not to be?”_

“Well,” Clarke counters, tapping her fingers on her thighs, “Most people are in bed at three a.m. on--a Thursday morning.” 

Lexa hums, jostling the phone and Clarke can make out the faint scratch of paper in the background. _“Lucky for me, I’m not most people. Otherwise, I would have missed this lovely call.”_

They pause, listening to each other breathe for a moment before Lexa releases a sigh. _“I think we’ve done this the wrong way around. I usually like to know a girls name before I put my mouth on her.”_

Clarke lets out a breathy laugh because of course, the woman she just met knows exactly who she’s talking to. 

And of course, Clarke never had any kind of upper hand in this scenario. 

“You tend to do this often then?” She says back, picking up her forgotten glass and bringing it to her lips. 

_“About as often as I visit strip clubs on a weeknight.”_ Lexa pauses for a moment, clearing her throat, _“Actually I do that far too often. I retract my statement.”_

Clarke hums softly, tipping her head back, “Strippers do it for you then?” 

There's a sudden shift as Lexa clicks her tongue, her deep sigh audible enough across their phone line, _“Not usually.”_ She makes a noise at the back of her throat, deep and guttural and Clarke feels all the liquid in her pool between her thighs.

_"Not usually. But-”_

"But." Clarke agrees with an amused smile. 

They're silent for a moment, Clarke wriggling restlessly as the tension rises. She hears Lexa sigh, the sound filling the space in her chest and she bites her lower lip in an effort not to sink into her couch like a wanton mess. 

_“Where are you right now?”_ Lexa asks, voice like gravel and Clarke jolts upright, heart racing. 

“In my humble abode,” she answers, a blatant tease to her voice, “Why?” 

_“Because,”_ the other girl replies, low tone smoothing into velvet, _“I want to see you.”_

Clarke swallows, mouth dry and cheeks warm. She feels… thoroughly seduced, palms wet against her legs and inner thighs coated with arousal. She hears shuffling across the phone, like the other girl is trying to settle, heavy breath echoing against her ear.

“ _Scared you off?”_

Clarke licks her lips, throat tight as she contemplates her next move. It seems ludicrous… to want this. To _do_ this. And yet…

“What's your address?” she replies, decision made. She stands and slips her sneakers back on. The sharp inhale that answers stops Clarke in her tracks, slowing down as she bites the inside of her cheek, “Sorry. Was that too much?” 

There’s a huff of a laugh that reverberates across the line, tone impossibly lower and deeper than previously and she shivers against it, skating her teeth over her already worried bottom lip. 

_“No.”_

They pause, silence heavy before Lexa clears her throat. _“You come here, and you know what will happen, right?”_

_"Mm. You're going to see me."_

Her laugh is breathy and gorgeous, “I'm going to _touch_ you. And _taste_ you. God, I want to feel you come on my fingers, and tongue, and strap if you're into that."

“Lexa,” Clarke moans more than says, clenching her teeth as she moves towards her door. “Tell. Me. Your. Address.” 

There's a reply, amusement and urgency melding into a soft heat that leaves Clarke breathless as she bids the other girl a quick goodbye, taxi already slowing in front of her.

Leaning her head back against the cheap leather, she waits, impatient with nerves and want and the ridiculousness of it all. She thinks about texting Raven or Octavia for a moment. Thinks about telling them the sudden change in plans for the night but lets the idea go with a sigh. Raven would smirk and send a few hundred filthy texts her way before ultimately trying to talk her out of it. Octavia would just shake her head and demand details over shots the next day where she'd force Clarke to endure an exhausting night of lesbian puns. 

Clarke pulls at the edge of her sweater, wishing she at least changed her clothes before impulsively making her way here. She has a moment of panic as she silently catalogs her undergarments before deeming them appropriate enough. 

She steps out of the taxi, the cool breeze of the early morning catching at her fatigued limbs and soaring her into acute wakefulness, a sort of slow deep ache of unexpected excitement settling in her gut. 

Clarke recalls the instructions from the other woman. 

_‘Penthouse. Use the private elevator to the right of the lobby. I’ll be waiting’_

She wants to roll her eyes. Of course, she lives in a penthouse. Of course, she parades around in fifteen thousand dollar watches and drinks whiskey neat.

Of course, she oozes sex and charm, leaving Clarke a highly aroused mess. 

Steeling her nerves, she clenches her fists, staring at her reflection in the gleaming elevator mirror. Blonde curls slightly mussed, her makeup shadowy and somewhat dramatic for her attire of ripped jeans and a soft sweater. She feels nervous at the sudden dichotomy of herself; remnants of sultry stripper Callie. And the softness of Clarke. She wonders if she is playing a role right now, all open confidence, standing in the elevator of a patron. 

Clarke winces, the ding of arrival pushing her cautiously forward, into what she can only describe as a large foyer of sorts. She expects high ceilings and sparkling chandeliers. Pristine marble surfaces and untouchable glass. Instead, she gets gleaming wooden floors and warm leather seats, throw blankets scattered artfully and clean open surfaces. It looks… _Lived in._ Welcoming. Clarke feels herself relax for a moment, supressing the urge to slip off her shoes and sink her toes into the thick carpet she sees sitting at the center of the room. 

“You made it.” The familiar voice interrupts her perusal and Clarke flinches, sucking in a deep breath as she searches for the source. She finds her, legs tucked beneath her slim frame, body comfortable in a small grey armchair placed in the corner of the room. 

“How long have you been there?” Clarke asks, heart hammering as she regards the graceful figure, looking much less intimidating with her hair cascading down her side in a mess of curls. 

“Since our phone call,” she replies, head tilted. “I didn't think you would show.” 

Clarke eyes her, setting down her purse on a wooden table she passes as she steps further into the room, “And why is that?” 

“Well... Most people would be in bed at-- three a.m. on a Thursday morning.” Lexa quips, looking down at her watch to confirm, smirk in place.

Clarke laughs softly, head tipping back as she runs a hand across her warm neck, “Lucky for you, I'm not most people.” 

“Lucky for me huh?” the other woman replies, chin resting on her knee, lips parted, “And why is that?”

Clarke regards her, all lithe body and open features. Takes in her halfway unbuttoned shirt and bare feet. She looks….at home. There's something about the image that makes Clarkes mouth water; makes the urge to strip her bare almost overwhelming. 

“Come here,” Clarke replies, response ending in a growl. She hears the intake of breath, watches the other woman stand without an inch of pretense and make her way towards her. Clarke swallows, palms itching to touch and hold and _feel._

Lexa is close when she stops, chest rising with her deep breaths and smirk raising the corner of her mouth as she leans in. 

The kiss is expected, but Clarke feels the other woman's response like fire gliding through her veins. She groans out loud, hands moving forward and grasping onto the small nape of a neck. It's soft for a moment, all uncertain pauses and savored tastes before Clarke lets herself sink, body falling forward and stomach grazing against Lexas. 

There is a growl, a sudden flick of tongue and the heat that began as a slow ember erupts into a ferocious breathtaking thing. Clarke opens her mouth, whimper falling into the silence and Lexa answers, sure fingers making her way to the blonde's hips, walking her backward until she feels the sturdiness of the wall against her shoulder blades. 

They both pause for a moment, Clarke detaching her mouth from the other woman and trying to catch her breath, tongue slowly tracing her bottom lip as she rests her head against the wall. 

“I haven't been able to get you out of my head.” Lexa remarks, eyes flickering back and forth from Clarke's plump bottom lip to her cerulean gaze. 

“Oh?” Clarke’s eyebrow lifts in question. The other woman raises a hand until her palm lays warm against Clarke's jaw, thumb coming forward to rest suggestively against her mouth, flicking at her bruised lip gently. Clarke feels herself stutter and pushes her hips back into the wall to stop them from lifting with every gentle tap of Lexa’s thumb. 

“You are fucking delicious,” she whispers, leaning forward and ghosting her lips down the expanse of Clarke's neck, pace so infuriatingly slow that Clarke feels herself hiss, clit throbbing painfully with want. “I knew you would be. God, from the moment I saw you crawling toward me I wanted to sink my tongue-” 

“Lexa,” Clarke all but grunts, pushing against her hips and flipping their bodies with quick control. Lexa lets out a soft noise when her back collides with the solid wall, Clarke answering in a growl, pushing her arms above her head and holding her there for a moment. 

She wants to savor it. Wants to take her just like this and litter bruises along the other woman's thighs. She stalls for a moment, memorizing the picture in front of her; dark eyes, pink lips, mouth open as she tries to catch her breath. Collarbone peeking from the loosely buttoned shirt, the small expanse of skin making Clarke clench her teeth. She decides to start there, mouthing at Lexa’s neck and inhaling her scent of sweetness and smoke with deep greedy lungfuls. She feels the other woman moan against her tongue and she chases the sound with her teeth, marking her with impatience and want. 

“Are you going to take me to your bed?” Clarke asks, slowly sliding her hands down until she's untucking the shirt from her slacks, fingers skating at the exposed skin of Lexa’s hips.

“Or am I going to drop to my knees for you right here?” She punctuates the point by pulling at her pants, dipping her fingers beneath the waistline and teasing along the other woman's inner thigh. Lexa groans, hips chasing her movement and Clarke reacts on instinct, sliding through the wetness between her thighs and echoing her moan. 

“Fuck Lexa. All this,” she grunts, thumbing her clit as the other woman lets out a sharp cry. “All this for me?” Without waiting for a response, Clarke sinks slowly, letting her mouth drag its way down Lexa’s mostly clothed body. She growls, pulling at her silk shirt until it falls open, buttons clinking unceremoniously on the polished floor.

Letting her nose skim the other woman's abdomen, Clarke swallows against the impatient need building in her chest letting herself suck at the soft skin below Lexa’s belly button. She feels the other woman shiver and Clarke wonders whether she felt like this between her legs earlier; mouth open on her skin, Clarke groaning for her openly in front of a crowded stage. She bites down with the thought, power and overwhelming arousal making her fingers inch.

“Take it off,” she hears above her, voice soft yet demanding, and Clarke chances a look upwards, sees dark kohl lined eyes gazing back and perfect white teeth sinking into her soft bottom lip. She feels the saliva pool in her mouth, the urge to taste and devour and _consume_ taking over her nerves and she follows the command without question; fingers pulling at the button, zipper releasing as she licks her way downwards. 

She feels fingers coasting through her hair and Clarke groans out loud as Lexa holds her in place, forcing her to press her lips to the taut muscle of her belly as the other woman arches her hips in encouragement. Clarke places her hands out front, steadying herself against the solid wall and looks up again, eyes feasting on the clench of her stomach and bra-clad breasts. Lexa is a goddess like this, all toned edges and blatant want. Hair cascading, the silk of her shirt slipping off one shoulder. Clarke knows what she must look like, palms pressed on either side of her hips, boxing her in place. Face pressed so closely she can feel her heat emanating against her chin. 

She removes one hand from the wall, latching onto Lexa’s slacks and pulling down roughly, eager to get her naked. Eager to feel the sweet tang of her against her tongue. It gives after three swift tugs, pooling at Lexa’s feet along with her a scrap of black lace that Clarke catalogs for later. She doesn’t waste time, already starved from the buildup, from the needy way Lexa bucks her hips, hands still buried in Clarke's blonde locks. 

She moans out loud at the first taste of her, heat coating her tongue and her stiff clit placed so easily against her mouth that she sucks without preamble, wanting to coax at the bundle of nerves until the woman's thighs begin to quiver.

Lexa is _wet;_ her want slipping down her inner thighs, the sound of Clarke taking her in reverberates against the empty room. Clarke clenches her thighs, eyes rolling as she hears Lexa swear and pull her closer, hips jolting with every well-timed flick of the blonde's tongue. 

This may be the hottest fucking sex that Clarke has ever had and she is still fully clothed. 

“Fuck, just like that,” Lexa rasps, eyes closing as she rests her head against the wall, teeth gritted as she chases the blonde's mouth. Clarke answers with a moan, the vibration doing delicious things as she slips a hand underneath Lexa’s thigh, bringing her leg above her shoulder and opening her up further. 

She wants to come like this, desire and heat coursing through her veins and shes tapping-- once, twice, _three_ times until Lexa opens her eyes. Clarke stares, holding her gaze and flicking her tongue with purpose. She wants her to _see._ To watch the blondes mouth move against her, watch her hum against her taste and hold her hips in place so she can suck _just right_. 

Lexa’s climax catches them both off guard, hips flicking suddenly and a deep growl erupting from her chest. Clarke feels the clench of her against her chin, slipping a finger into her heat and curving just so until Lexa cries out loud in response, shaking in her ecstasy. 

Clarke feels hands tighten in her hair, gently pulling her away from her now sensitive sex and she lets go reluctantly, moving her finger slowly as she mouths at the brunette's hip, wanting every twitch to last longer. Wanting her to slip to the floor so she can fuck her hard and fast and watch her come apart with her fingers buried deep and her teeth attached to her neck. 

Lexa stops her hand, holding onto her wrist softly and pulling until she slips out with a soft groan. There is a pause as she catches her breath, thighs still twitching and the soothing edge of her orgasm settling in her lower belly. She pulls Clarke upwards, thighs still splayed open so the blonde is forced between them and Clarke falls into the kiss with a soft moan. She shivers, answering Lexas groan with the lazy flick of her hips, heat throbbing between her thighs. She smiles, huffing in a laugh as she pushes at the brunette, back now firmly placed against the wall. 

“And we’re back to where we started,” Clarke murmurs, biting at the underside of Lexa’s jaw. “Except now I know how delicious you taste.” 

Lexa smirks, raising the hand that’s still attached to the blonde’s wrist and Clarke watches as her soaked digits are placed against the brunettes parted lips and she cleans her wetness off. Clarke moans out loud, the soft engulfing heat of Lexa's mouth causing the wanton desire to surge through her veins, “Fuck. Lexa.”

Lexa releases her, pink tongue trailing against her index finger and she nods. “Yes, I agree.” 

Surging forward, she pulls the blonde into a kiss, so fierce and filthy that Clarke feels her knees quake, “Let's fuck.” 

Clarke feels the floor beneath her give and she squeaks in alarm, before realizing she's being lifted, feet leaving the floor and she responds with a breathless laugh, legs hooking around the brunette's waist. 

“Give a girl some warning.” 

“The same kind of warning you just gave me?” Lexa replies between kisses to her exposed neck, teeth biting with such an abandon that Clarke knows she will be bruised for days to come. She moans out loud, filthy and brazen. Wants to be naked with this girl. On top of this girl. _Beneath_ this girl. 

She hisses, palm coming up to frame the other woman's face, tilting her jaw. She waits until her gaze settles on her. Waits until those dark mossy eyes she's been steadily becoming intoxicated by, focus on her the way they did while she was on that stage. Exposed. Performing. Playing a part. The way her eyes never left her own, instead they penetrated her facade, created a spark and stoked a fire. 

She licks her lips, hips melting into the other woman's hold with unexpected trust. 

She means to tell Lexa to take her to bed but what falls out is, “My name is Clarke.”

**Author's Note:**

> Can yall believe in the year 2020, our lord and savior God!Lexa gave us Clexa endgame??
> 
> *Completed because every chapter can stand alone


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